


Wake Up Call

by RedLeaderfic



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Defiant Victim, Episode Tag, Forced Orgasm, Gags, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-05-30 22:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19412890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLeaderfic/pseuds/RedLeaderfic
Summary: The Undisputed Era want to celebrate Roddy joining the team and they've invited Pete Dunne to the party.In fact, Pete is the guest of honor.





	Wake Up Call

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ms_socko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_socko/gifts).



> Happy Reveals Day! 
> 
> Many, many thanks to my mystery beta for wrangling my commas.

He’d forgotten that Roddy still had the other key to the hotel room. _Stupid._

The door lock clicked open around three; Pete was a light sleeper even on a good night and click was enough to wake him out of sound sleep, for all the good it did him. The four of them burst in the room all at once; Roddy and O’Reilly both launched themselves at him the instant they saw he was awake while Cole stayed back, one hand on Fish’s shoulder as if to make sure he didn’t try to jump in too. Pete thought he might be able to take on both Roddy and O’Reilly if he’d been standing, at least enough to do some damage, but there weren’t many out there who could match Kyle O’Reilly in a ground fight. The two of them grabbed him each by one arm and dragged him over to the edge of the bed, as if presenting him to Cole for inspection. That last backbreaker had tweaked something and being jostled around sent pain shooting down his entire spine, enough that he bit his lip to keep from screaming. Cole reached out and tipped his chin up, his brow creased like he was trying to make a decision. Pete forced a smile, counting on the bloody lip to make him look feral.

Cole didn’t look all that impressed. “Now, don’t go and make this any harder than it has to be,” he said, crouching down to Pete’s eye level and ruffling his hair. 

Pete headbutted him. He laughed as Cole reared back, his eyes wide and both hands over his precious face, and kept on laughing as Roddy and O’Reilly wrestled him back down to the bed. “ _Fuck!_ Fuck, fine, have it your way,” Cole said through his fingers. “Tie him up and shut him up, we’re gonna be here a while.”

Like good little henchmen Roddy and O’Reilly went about following the boss’s orders; O’Reilly put one knee in the small of his back and wrenched both of his arms back, zip tying his wrists together as Roddy took off his new shirt and stuffed it in Pete’s mouth. Pete gagged at the taste, turning his face away so Roddy wouldn’t see his eyes watering. He could see Fish fussing over Cole, the two of them trying to figure out if Pete had broken Cole’s nose. He laughed again through the gag and Roddy slapped him on the side of the head hard enough to make his ears ring. Roddy grabbed a handful of his hair and wrenched his head around, crouching so they were eye to eye but keeping a firm grip just in case Pete got any ideas. “You know, when I was your age and winning titles I had a whole locker room of people who taught me respect. We all think it’s high time someone did that for you.” Roddy let his head drop back against the mattress and O’Reilly finally seemed satisfied with the restraints, testing them one last time before climbing off him, smacking him on the ass once for good measure. 

Pete listened to the four of them talk over what they were about to do, cold sweat breaking out over his back and arms. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew what was about to happen; if they’d just wanted to beat him up some more they would have already started in. He tried to keep his breathing even, flexing his fingers through the too tight restraints on his wrists. “You wanna go first?” O’Reilly asked Cole.

“Nah,” Cole said, “the rest of you loosen him up for me.” He slung one arm around Roddy’s shoulder. “Besides, Roddy’s our man of the hour, he should get the honors."

Pete shivered and hope none of them had seen it. He kept running over the whole last night, trying to think of what he must have missed, how he hadn’t realized Roddy would turn on him. The empty second bed in the room where Roddy had slept like a baby the night before looked like it was laughing at him. One of them slid a pillow beneath his hips to prop him up better - he wasn’t sure which one - then he felt Roddy slide in behind him and pull off the shorts he’d been sleeping in. Roddy started to pull his legs apart and Pete tensed his muscles up so he could at least make it as hard for him as he could. Roddy swore under his breath; Pete didn’t look back but he could almost see him frowning with his hands on his hips. Before Pete could indulge in any muffled trashtalk he felt Roddy press the pad of his thumb into the center of Pete’s shoulder, right into the strained muscle he’d asked Roddy to help spread balm on before the match. Pete yelped and tried to flinch away as much as he could; Roddy moved his hands back to Pete’s thighs and dug his nails in to the point Pete was sure he’d draw blood. Pete forced himself to relax and Roddy patted his hip. “Good boy.”

Pete heard Roddy spit and winced at the rough, cursory effort at slicking him up. He bit his bloodied lip again and tried to brace.

It wasn’t Pete’s first time but Roddy went in so rough and had done such a woeful prep job that it didn’t matter; Pete was momentarily glad for the gag because it made it easier to not scream. “Oof, _tight_ ,” Roddy said, sounding a little breathless. “We’re not popping your cherry, are we, Pete? You should have said. We would have made a bigger deal of things. Brought a cake.” Roddy was forced to go slower than he clearly would have liked, each new inch feeling like being stabbed with a hot iron. Pete pressed his face into the mattress and swore, deciding that was an acceptable alternative to screaming. Roddy took that as encouragement and went straight to jackhammering, hard enough that Pete saw stars; he did everything he could not to squirm, doing everything he could to force his body to ignore what was happening to it. Roddy tried to snake his hand around to reach for Pete’s cock and Pete ground into the pillow to try to stop him, a sudden, irrational flash of panic shooting adrenaline through him. Roddy grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked back, earning a muffled yelp from Pete. He made himself to relax, not wanting to force them to get more creative with the punishments, and almost choked on bile when he felt Roddy’s hand wrap tight around his cock. He’d been half hard just from friction and Roddy stroked him to full length with purpose. Pete had hoped Roddy and his new buddies would be able to have their fun without making him an active participant but, well, it wasn’t like that was the only thing he’d misjudged about Roddy Strong this weekend.

Pete let his mind wander. He could hear himself moan but told himself that because it was so muffled by the shirt in his mouth it didn’t matter. The pain wasn’t so bad anymore. Pete wasn’t sure if it was because he’d adjusted to it or because he was on the verge of passing out. He couldn’t let himself, though. He didn’t know what they would do to him if he wound up unconscious. 

He managed to disassociate just enough that he didn’t realize he’d come until he dimly felt Roddy slide out and come over his back. His cock was throbbing and he felt sticky, his addled nerves finally catching up to taunt him that after everything else Roddy had gotten him to orgasm.

They were talking again. “…And you put up such a fight!” Roddy said, patting his cheek. “You almost had me fooled, but look how fast you came. Did we get a time on that?”

“We playing beat the clock?” Cole said.

“Aw man, that’s not fair.” That sounded like O’Reilly. “The first guy is always gonna get him off fastest.”

“You gotta have skills,” Roddy said, sounding like he’d clapped O’Reilly on the shoulder. “He’s a virile young guy. He should be just about ready for round two I bet.”

“Adam, how do you want him? Same view?” Pete realized Cole had set himself up in the desk chair at some point, leaning back like he was at the theater. Pete really wished he’d broken his nose.

Cole took an excruciatingly long time considering. “Put him on his back, Kyle. I couldn’t see his face last time.” O’Reilly flipped him over, making Pete’s bound hands dig into his back. He squeezed his eyes shut as O’Reilly took his time being fussy about the positioning only to have to open them again when Cole tapped his cheek. “Eyes on me.”

Pete glared at him, almost thankful for the chance. He bit down on the gag and stared Cole right in the eyes as he felt O’Reilly prop one leg against his shoulder and start to slide in. It didn’t hurt as much this time, at least partially because O’Reilly was taking much more time than Roddy had, being careful enough that Roddy called out, laughing, “He likes it rough, remember!”

“And I like to take my time with things, okay?” O’Reilly joked back, but he was in fact going very slowly, enough that Pete had to catch himself not to rock his hips to urge for more. He focused instead on glaring hate into Adam Cole’s smug face, imagining everything he would do to the man when they were on equal footing in the ring again. 

Cole seemed amused by that. “I don’t know why you’re so upset. We just came to get some stuff Roddy forgot in here, you’re the one who made a whole _thing_ out of it.” He brushed Pete’s hair out of his face and Pete jerked his head away, earning himself a backhanded slap. The slap was good, the slap and the agonizing pain from his bound hands grinding into his spine. He could work with pain, what he couldn’t take was the slow, careful way O’Reilly was fucking him; Roddy’s sadism had been bearable but with O’Reilly it was too easy to forget. Even just a single awful second was too much. He kept finding himself wanting to arch his back or tighten his free leg around O’Reilly’s waist, he kept touching Pete in just the right way to trick him into almost responding. He started drifting again, startling back when he felt a hand wind through his hair, Cole physically turning his head to face him again. “What did I say?” he taunted in a little sing-song voice.

Cole’s hand was in his hair just tight enough to keep Pete from turning his head; before Pete could even take a breath Cole pulled the shirt out of his mouth and kissed him. Pete squeezed his lips shut, wanting to gag when he felt Cole’s tongue try to pry them open. He heard Kyle groan. “ _Fuck_ , that’s good Adam. Keep that up.”

Cole chuckled, his thumb tracing along Pete’s jaw. He slowly started twisting the hand in Pete’s hair until Pete’s eyes watered; he groaned through his gritted teeth and Cole laughed again, stroking along his jaw like he was trying to encourage Pete. Kyle had picked up his rhythm, his breathing getting ragged, and Pete couldn’t squirm away from both that and Cole’s lips on his although he damn well tried. Cole twisted his hair again and Pete gasped before he could stop himself; Cole’s tongue flicked into his mouth, moving too quickly to be caught when Pete tried to bite. Cole stuffed the shirt back into his mouth and settled down with one arm leaning against the bed, his other hand still gripped tight in Pete’s hair. “Get him off good, Kyle,” he said, tugging Pete’s hair to keep him looking Cole’s way. “I want to see it in his eyes.”

Pete felt his breath catch and could tell from Cole’s smirk that the panic had shown on his face. Kyle leaned forward with his hands braced on Pete’s shoulders, the position trapping his cock between their bodies just the right way that Pete knew he could come from this, another cold flash of panic rushing through him at the thought. Kyle kept making minute changes to his position, his eyes locked on Pete’s face so keenly Pete could feel it without needing to see it. He saw something in Pete’s face and started going fast, hitting a spot that made Pete’s whole body arch. Every time he closed his eyes or tried to turn his head away Cole would yank on his hair to correct him, leaning in so close Pete thought Cole should be able to feel him shaking. “Almost there, Kyle.”

Pete tried to focus on the searing pain in his back to make Cole a liar but it wasn’t enough. Cole held his head still, making Pete look into his eyes for every miserable second of the orgasm. When he was satisfied he released Pete with a dismissive little shove. Pete closed his eyes and waited for Kyle to finish, barely feeling the way Kyle’s nails dug into his shoulders. Kyle finally came with a breathless swear, almost collapsing on top of Pete before catching himself. Pete heard the rest of the team slap Kyle on the shoulder and congratulate him, Roddy crowing that he was still in first place. Pete managed to roll himself over to his side, enough to alleviate the pressure on his back. He tried to flex his fingers but it was harder than the first time; Pete didn’t know if it was because of the ties being too tight or just from his weight being on his hands for the last however many minutes. Pete didn’t have the focus to worry about it. It was hard enough just to catch his breath, especially since he had to breathe around the gag. 

There were still two left more to go.

Pete must have passed out despite himself; when he startled back to consciousness the four of them were still all sitting around in his room, Roddy on the edge of the bed. He caught Pete’s eye and held out his energy drink can, like he was offering Pete a sip. Pete turned his head away and curled up on himself tighter, ignoring the way Roddy laughed so he could focus on what they were all talking about. “…Don’t know guys, I don't know if I should join in,” Fish said.

You would have thought he’d said he was retiring to live on a fishing boat in Alaska. “Bobby, no!” Cole said, O’Reilly echoing with a “No, c’mon” as Roddy jumped off the bed to join the argument.

Fish shook his head. “You guys did all the work tonight, it’s your party.”

Fish had been camped out in the room’s easy chair since things had started in earnest, stripped down like the rest except for the sleeve on his knee, his bad leg propped up on the ottoman. Cole crouched in front of him, looking appalled. “Bobby, no,” he said. “Tonight is for all of us. You see these?” he said, picking one of the tag title belts from its place of honor on the desk. “We wouldn’t have these if it weren’t for you, you know that. Every single one of us held these titles tonight, you and Kyle at the start of the night, me and Kyle defending and then Kyle and Roddy at the end. All of us! That is beautiful, and I don’t think it’s ever been done before. We all get to celebrate tonight. I need you to be part of this with us.”

Fish cracked a grin. “You know I can never say no to you, Cole.”

Cole smiled, straightening up to kiss Fish on the head. “No one ever does.” He took a step back, frowning. “But I want to make sure we do this right. I don’t want to do any more damage to that leg.”

“That would be a fun story to tell the boss,” Roddy cracked.

O’Reilly pursed his lips. “Maybe put him in Bobby’s lap? Then Bobby doesn’t have to stand or bend his leg or anything.”

Cole nodded. “Might work,” he said, testing the chair. “Does this rock? That might definitely work.” He turned his head and caught Pete’s eye, the friendly smile turning reptilian. “Only one way to find out.”

Pete played at compliance until Roddy and O’Reilly grabbed him – Cole was staying a safe distance away this time – and when they dragged him off the bed Pete set his feet and aimed the point of his shoulder right at Roddy’s collarbone. His legs were too shaky to put his usual amount of strength behind it but he felt a flutter of satisfaction at making Roddy stagger back a few steps. The rebellion was short lived but Pete knew it would be, there were too many of them. Cole stepped in behind Pete and kicked at his hamstring, forcing Pete down to his knees. He grabbed a fistful of Pete’s hair again and dragged him over to where Fish was seated like a wounded lord on a throne, the ottoman pushed to the side to keep his leg propped up while staying mostly out of the way. Cole put him on his knees in front of Fish, pulling his hair back to make Pete watch Fish stroke himself to full hardness. “Want him to help with that, Bobby?” 

Fish seemed to consider it for a second. “Not sure I trust those teeth.”

Cole laughed, cuffing Pete on the back of the head. “The spirit he’s still got, right? Love it.” He pulled Pete back up and positioned him over Fish’s lap; Fish had brought some actual lube and Pete groaned at the cold bite when he was already so raw. He felt Fish’s cock probe at his hole and shook with the effort of not throwing up; with the shirt in his mouth that would only be bad for him. “You good, Bobby?”

Fish grunted in assent and Pete saw a terrifying smile on Cole’s face. Cole planted both hands on Pete’s shoulders, looking right into his eyes as he pushed him downward, forcing him to take Fish’s whole length all at once. Pete screamed through the gag, his vision whiting out; it took a few seconds to fight through the wall of pain. He found himself with his head lolling back on Fish’s shoulder, Fish sweeping his hair out of the way to kiss his neck. The scratch of Fish’s beard made him shiver; he tried to squirm away but Fish put one hand on his forehead to keep him still. Pete felt Fish’s other hand fondle his cock and whimpered before he could stop himself. He was so overstimulated that just being stroked made him ache. The angle and his hands still behind his back meant that once Fish settled in and found his rhythm he didn’t wind up in as deep as Roddy and O’Reilly had been but in a way that was worse -this way he could really feel each movement, even the gentlest thrust hitting a spot that felt like it went right up his abused spine. 

Fish seemed to be getting frustrated with the trouble he was having getting Pete hard again. “Kyle, get over here, I want an assist.”

“That’s not fair, that is not how this works,” Roddy said.

“You’re just mad you didn’t think of it,” Fish said with a laugh, keeping to his slow, rocking rhythm that made Pete moan with each movement. “And I want to win.”

“Man, and Kyle’s good at that,” Roddy mock whined, seeming willing to let Fish have his way. When Pete forced his eyes open he saw O’Reilly kneel in front of him with a hungry smirk, wiping him down with a towel for a second before wrapping his lips around Pete’s semi-flaccid cock. Pete closed his eyes, a wave of claustrophobia washing over him, his pounding, panicked heart feeling like it was about to bruise against his sternum. It there had been only one instead of the two at once pressing on both sides, if his hands weren’t bound, if he could move his head, even if he could just take a deep breath Pete knew he could handle this, he knew it, but he couldn’t do any of those things and he felt like he was drowning, there wasn’t enough air.

And the worst part was that O’Reilly had gotten him hard again. Pete whimpered at the pressure building back up in his groin, trying to squirm away on instinct when O’Reilly cupped his balls. Fish’s free hand stroked up and down his ribs, just hard enough for Pete to feel the scratch of his nails. Pete felt the man’s breath on his ear. “Look how good Kyle looks down there,” Fish said, jolting his head just enough to force him to open his eyes. Pete choked down another wave of shaky revulsion. “You don’t deserve how good we’re being to you, you might not come this many times again in one night your entire life. Maybe we should let the UK locker room know how good you’ve been, see if they want to try topping us.” Bobby Fish never shut up when he was in a match and Pete guessed he shouldn’t be surprised he’d be like that all the time. He started into some of the filthiest dirty talk Pete had ever experienced, going into disgusting detail of what was going to happen when Pete got home, like they all would be able to smell Cole and the rest still on him. It was garbage but the vivid images sank their hooks into Pete’s mind anyway. He squeezed his eyes shut again, resisting any efforts to get him to open them. Fish laughed and kept talking, picking up his pace with O’Reilly deep throating to match. The words started to run together, which was a small relief; their combined efforts made him come with so much force he went lightheaded, screaming because that was better than the sobbing he really wanted to do. 

Pete felt them shove him back facedown on the bed and he lay where he fell, his head spinning. He tried to move his fingers and realized he couldn’t; that broke through the daze and he started struggling harder than he had at any part of the night. He knew the plastic ties had to be cutting into his wrists but he couldn’t feel it. He shouted through the gag, desperate to get any attention. Cole finally had enough of him and stalked over, ripping the shirt out of his mouth. “What? What is your problem?”

“I can’t feel my hands,” Pete said, keeping his eyes focused on some vague point in the distance. Needing to ask their help was shameful enough, he didn’t have it in him to look Adam Cole in the eye while he did it. 

He’d half expected Cole to laugh but they all looked troubled, Pete’s addled brain finally supplying that if he came up injured in a hard-to-explain way like this it might actually become a problem for them. Cole pulled them all to the side for a whispered conversation, then Pete felt one of them cut the restraints off. He curled up around his numb hands, the pain when the feeling started to come back possibly the best thing he’d ever felt. He hated that he hadn’t been able to tough it out but he couldn’t come out of this injured. He would have to drop his title if he damaged his hands enough, maybe even never wrestle again. “Should we wrap it up here, then?” Roddy said, sounding doubtful. “I don’t have another pair of those and I still don’t trust him to behave.”

“No,” Cole said. Of course he would; he still hadn’t had his turn. “No, we’re going to finish this up right.” He stood over Pete, his arms crossed. “Kyle, grab one of his arms.” O’Reilly seemed to pick up what Cole was on to immediately, sitting on the edge of the bed and locking Pete’s arm into a modified arm bar. Cole crouched next to the bed at eye level with Pete. “Okay, so here’s how this is going to work. If you try even the slightest thing, I’m gonna tell Kyle over there to break your arm.” Pete looked up at O’Reilly and knew he would do it without blinking. “And if anyone asks what happened, well, we’ll just tell Regal that you attacked me and Kyle broke it pulling you off.” Cole smiled. “And you know everyone will believe us. Because they all know you. Regal hates your guts so he’ll probably give us all a bonus.” Pete allowed that this was probably true. “So play nice and we’ll be nice back.”

“I will kill you someday,” Pete snarled into Cole’s face.

Cole laughed, ruffling Pete’s hair. “Y’know, so many people have said that but it’s never worked out that way.” Pete watched him circle around to kneel on the bed behind him, nudging Pete’s thigh to prod him to his knees. O’Reilly put some pressure on the armbar, just enough to warn, and Pete tried his best to comply. His limbs were shaking too hard to support him at first, his arm especially collapsing under him when he tried to rest any weight on it. He felt cold, like they’d cranked up the aircon, and he wondered if this was shock. O’Reilly shifted over enough to give him a little support and Pete managed to prop himself up on his shaky elbow and knees, resting his forehead on his balled-up fist. He felt Cole’s hands on his hips moving him into position, then the head of his cock press in. “Fuck, how are you still this tight?” Cole said, sounding impressed. Cole stayed shallow at first, hitting every raw spot like he was enjoying watching Pete choke down screams. They hadn’t gagged him again and Pete couldn’t risk anyone in the hotel hearing; he didn’t trust the walls. His arm slid out from under him again, pain lancing through his shoulder when O’Reilly caught him. “Remember what I said,” Cole taunted, as if he thought Pete was intentionally collapsing onto his face. Cole slowly worked his way in deeper, his rhythm picking up. Pete moaned, trying to gag himself with his fist. He whimpered when he felt Cole reach around for his cock, he’d almost forgotten they were competing about this. He shivered so hard his teeth chattered; he felt like each thrust was going to finally be the one that split him open and almost didn’t care if it did.

Adam leaned over, his lips right next to Pete’s ear. “You know why Roddy joined me?” he said, waiting for Pete to shake his head that he didn’t. “Because he loves me. All of my guys, they _love_ me.” Pete looked over his shoulder and Roddy gave him a _hey, what are you gonna do?_ shrug. “You know why I’m here and you’re there, you piece of trash?” Cole said, pulling Pete’s attention back. He left the question sink in for a few moments. “Because no one, absolutely no one loves you.”

Pete felt a feeble surge of protest at that but it died in his throat. Cole had paused, like he was waiting to see if Pete would take a swing, but he was so wrung out he wasn’t sure he’d be able to move even if he’d been willing to risk the consequences. He wanted to outlast them – and he could, he knew he could – but the bigger, more shameful part of him just wanted it to be _over_.

So he tapped. Let his mind go blank, stopped fighting, let his exhausted body just react. He stayed on the edge for so long he thought Cole might be doing it on purpose but no, of course not, that wasn’t the game they were playing. 

He moaned when the orgasm finally shook him, from relief as much as from pleasure because there was no pleasure here. Cole finished up and motioned to O’Reilly to let him go, rolling Pete over to his back. He straddled Pete’s waist and kissed him, Pete weakly trying to turn his head away but not able to resist any further than that. “That was fun,” Cole said, and for an awful second Pete wondered if they were all going to take another turn through the rotation. 

He wasn’t sure when they left. At some point he heard the shower running, and people talking, but he couldn’t do anything more than dimly note the sounds existed. After a while he realized the room had gone quiet and Pete thought they must have left without him noticing. Pete kept staring up at the ceiling for a long time, not moving from where they’d left him. He wondered, in a vague, distant way, how long shock could last for because he was still shaking. Could be a permanent state of affairs, he supposed.

Pete felt his skin prickling and it slowly sank in that he was still lying in that disgusting bed. He pushed himself off and crumpled to the floor, his exhausted muscles refusing to hold him up. After a few minutes of lying there he managed to pull himself up to sit on the floor against the bed, his head against his knees. Every twenty minutes or so the electronic lock on the door would click as it cycled. He had barely noticed it the night before but he almost jumped out of his skin each time now, wondering if they were coming back. 

He heard his ringtone and fumbled for the phone on the table without thinking, only dropping it once before managing to answer. “’ullo?”

It took every last fragment of self control he had left to not drop it again at hearing Trent’s voice. “Did I wake you up? I just saw what happened, what the hell was all that about?” For a horrified instant Pete thought Trent meant the last hour or so – Had they taken pictures? Was it online? – but no, of course he meant the match. Of course he did. Takeover felt like it had been years ago. Pete didn’t say anything but Trent was used to doing most of the talking. He could picture Trent smiling, getting ready to rib him the way he would after any loss, the way they all did with each other. “You want us to come down there and help put a hurting on some people? You just----”

“Yes.”

Pete heard his voice crack on the single word and winced. Trent was dead silent for a few long moments. “What happened----?” he said, all joking wiped from his voice, before cutting himself off midsentence, probably because Trent Seven had known Pete long enough to know he would never get an answer. “We’re on the next flight. Do you hear me? Tyler and I both.”

Pete shook his head. Just talking to Trent had helped to clear his head a little bit, made him feel more like himself. “No, no, don’t.” His throat was so raw it took a few tries to get the words out. “No need for that. The two of you have dates to make, I’ll be back in country----”

“Peter.” Pete swallowed the rest of the argument, his eyes burning. He wasn’t even sure why he’d been making one. “Next flight.”

Pete nodded, not caring that Trent couldn’t see. He put the phone down and his head in his hands, letting himself shake. He forced a snarl on his face until it felt natural there. They’d had numbers on him, that was all. Nothing more than numbers.

Pete forced himself up and shoved the hotel room desk in front of the door, just to block it enough to give him warning if Roddy tried to use his key. With that done he slumped back to the floor and rubbed his aching wrists, his back to a wall. England to here was about ten hours, give or take. He could get through ten hours. He would force himself to.

He _was_ trash, Cole was far from the first person to call him that and Pete Dunne would never deny it. Cole was wrong about that second part though. If Pete had been tempted to believe him (and he had in the moment; he still felt that hollow ache when he thought about it) the barely restrained fury in Trent’s voice would have put a lie to it. 

The lock clicked again and Pete shook. Ten hours, he told himself. 

Then he would have some numbers too.


End file.
